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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22914886">Quiet Without, Quiet Within</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparkly_butthole/pseuds/sparkly_butthole'>sparkly_butthole</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Odds and Ends [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Losers (2010), The Losers (Comic)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angry Birb Roque, Canon-Typical Violence, Car Chases, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Mute Jensen, Pre-Slash, Protective Cougar, References to past trauma, safe houses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 15:56:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,475</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22914886</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparkly_butthole/pseuds/sparkly_butthole</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Genie lamps aren’t real, Jensen. Let me prove it to you, Jensen. </p><p>Shut up, Jensen.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Carlos "Cougar" Alvarez/Jake Jensen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Odds and Ends [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1647016</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>65</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Losers Bingo 2019/20</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This one’s been on the burner for a while. Rewritten three goddamn times. I’m sick of looking at it, so I’m SHARING MY MISERY WITH YOU ALL. </p><p>Serious thanks to <a>DarkCaustic</a> and <a>waitfortheclick</a> for their help in getting me to shut up and checking for continuity, respectively. </p><p>Written for the Losers Bingo square Author’s Choice.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span> It’s fucking hot.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It’s so fucking hot Cougar can barely stand himself, and he grew up in Mexico. Roque’s doing okay - well, in terms of dealing with the temperature, at least - but the others glisten like they’ve been oiled up for a slip-n-slide, and Cougar would find it Jensen’s miserable look funny if he weren’t packed into a tiny car that smells exactly as expected: four grown-ass men in hundred degree weather. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Damn the sun. Damn global warming. Damn this old beat-up jalopy and its lack of air conditioning. Can’t the government afford something better than this? </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Apparently fucking not. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And that’s not even the worst part. They were supposed to have a stand-down, a nice trip stateside, after months of being cooped up in a tiny apartment. Poor Jensen and Roque had been at each others’ throats the entire time, which had put them all on edge, but they’d had time at home to look forward to. At least until Clay got an email from the brass stating that no, actually, we own you, so... good luck on your next assignment. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jensen’s going on and on about needing to replace a computer part. It’s nothing Cougar understands, so he tunes him out, as does Pooch. Clay is wearing his grumpy bear face, but he’s had a lot of practice at dealing with Jensen’s constant need to make noise... but Roque is at the end of his rope, which wasn’t that long to begin with. Cougar can see his face, just, his sharp profile as he turns to level a glare behind the driver’s seat. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jensen ignores him - if he even notices. Sometimes it’s hard to tell. It’s Cougar’s job to notice everything, though, and he shoots Roque a glare of his own. It doesn’t completely cow the man, but he closes his mouth before he says something stupid. Good thing, too, because Cougar has a temper; he’s just less obvious about it. The heat isn’t helping it, either.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It wouldn’t be the first time Jensen’s mouth got him into trouble, not even close, but Cougar’s finally at the point where he both can and is willing to jump in and defend him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It’s mostly the can part; he’s been willing for a long time now. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“At least this one will be quick,” Clay comments as soon as he can get a word in. “Two, maybe three days. Stop the car, grab the weapons, and go.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We can only hope,” Pooch says with a long-suffering sigh. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jensen nods. “I wholeheartedly agree,” he says, then continues running off at the mouth, this time about competitive hacking. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And just what have you been hacking into?” Clay asks. “Is it something that’s gonna get me fired? Or even worse, thrown in front of a firing squad?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“They don’t do that anymore.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s a figure of speech,” Clay responds dryly. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jensen shakes his head. “I’m the best in the business. I’m not talking about the government right now anyway.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well that’s good,” Clay says. Cougar’s ninety percent sure it’s sarcastic. The </span>
  <em>
    <span>right now</span>
  </em>
  <span> qualifier doesn’t exactly inspire confidence. It makes Cougar snort. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Pooch glances miserably between Cougar, Jensen, and Clay; Cougar applauds his effort to avoid eye contact with their SIC. Maybe he’ll zone out if they don’t pretend to include him in the conversation. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They manage to afford two hotel rooms, though the hotel itself is run-down, probably with a half star rating, and if that’s not a thing yet, it needs to be. The stains on the carpet look to be about a hundred years old, and the place smells like stale mothballs. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Beats that fucking hot car,” Pooch points out, chuckling at Cougar’s scrunched up nose. God, he fucking hates mothballs. Why does it have to be fucking mothballs? “Go take a shower.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You first,” Cougar says, not adding that he wants to get Jensen settled in. Jensen’s tells are surprisingly almost as subtle as Cougar’s own, but Cougar can read him and knows he’s in need of a little quiet time. And the amazing thing is, only Cougar can give him that. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Pooch doesn’t understand it, but he recognizes and respects it, at least, so he nods and goes to shower the stench off. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And don’t take all the hot water!” Cougar yells. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s so hot the water’s probably boiling as a rule,” Jensen mutters, claiming a bed. There are two here and three of them. Cougar often sleeps on the floor, but occasionally, he’ll bunk up with Jensen if he senses Jensen needs it, and this will be one of those nights. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He lays out his sniper rifle on the side Jensen hasn’t taken. Jensen grabs his wrist before he can move away and murmurs a thank you.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>De nada</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Cougar responds with a small smile. Jensen grins back because, according to Jensen, that smile is like the sun. And Cougar gets it, he really does, because once upon a time, they hadn’t had the sun at all, only each other. It’s hard for him sometimes, but he does it as often as possible. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The thing is, he likes seeing that grin on Jensen’s face just as much. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He settles in beside Jensen and goes about his usual ritual, wiping his weapons down, paying particular attention to the rifle, his baby. Jensen laughs softly, all fondness and exasperation at Cougar’s intense focus. He’s not chatting anymore, though; it’s nearly as meditative for him as it is for Cougar. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Pooch marches out of the shower looking like a new man. He sheds the towel around his waist with a flourish, making Jensen groan and complain about how little Jolene would appreciate him showing off the goods like that. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Pooch just scoffs. “I am comfortable in my sexuality, and she knows you can’t avoid my ass anyway. Besides, it’s sexy. See?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What the fuck, dude? Have you contracted heat stroke or something? I’ve seen your ass a thousand times, which is a thousand times too many if you ask me. Cougs?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Cougar chuckles as Jake turns to him and hides his face in Cougar’s neck with an exaggerated grimace. “Definitely heat stroke,” he agrees solemnly. “But it is a nice ass.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Why are we having this conversation?” Jensen asks with a groan, falling back on the bed. Big damn drama queen. “Just because it’s the Army doesn’t mean everything has to be some big homoerotic production.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Tell Clay to get some women on the team then,” Pooch says with a shrug, pulling up his pants. Cougar almost loses it when he nearly faceplants. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Go shower,” Pooch growls. “You still smell like dead animal.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Rather smell like dead animal than deal with Roque for another second,” Jensen groans. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well you don’t have to do either, so fucking clean up already.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re not the boss of me,” Jensen mutters. Cougar pats his hand in mock sympathy.</span>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The interception goes off without a hitch. Three trunks full of assorted goodies sit in their armored truck, ready to be delivered to a warehouse two hundred miles north of their location. This ride is much easier than the last, that’s for sure. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The warehouse workers seem distinctly unimpressed with one of their assets, however. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“The hell is this shit?” the guy says with a sneer. “A trunk full of trinkets? Where the hell did you get this?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“In the car with the rest of it. Not my problem anymore.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We’re not accepting this.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“The count is right. It was with the weapons,” Clay says firmly. “Not. My. Problem.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re one down,” the guy insists. “We need all of it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Fine. If you don’t believe me, I’ll hand it to the brass myself. Then you’ll look like a damn fool.” Truth is, Cougar’s not sure what the hell the trinkets are either, and he fervently hopes his boss isn’t gonna be the one looking like a fool here. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They trade vehicles. Unfortunately, their new ride is just as small as the first. At least it has air conditioning. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Where are we gonna put that thing?” Jensen complains. “No room in the trunk.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Looks like it’ll ride in your laps then,” Roque says, oily and smug. “It ain’t that heavy. Just sit the seat back as far as it’ll go and settle in.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They do, grumbling all the while, but the ride to the extraction point is only twenty minutes away, and the prospect of being free of Roque’s mean countenance for a while makes the discomfort worth it. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh... we’ve got a problem,” Clay says slowly. Cougar can’t see around the damn trunk, but the tone of Clay’s voice makes him instinctively tense up. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Boss?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“There’s no helicopter here. Nothing. No sign anyone’s been out here in a long time. Fucking grass has grown over - “</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Bullets ping the side of the car. Pooch winces, and Cougar can sympathize; he’s trapped in the center underneath a trunk, unable to move. On the other hand, it’s the safest place in the car at the moment. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Clay maneuvers the car around and guns it. Cougar can’t see much out the window, but he thinks he counts four cars - and a fuck ton of people in them. Their tires screech on the asphalt as they begin pursuit. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“How fast does this car go?” Jensen asks. His voice doesn’t shake, doesn’t show any signs of anxiety at all, in fact, but Cougar has no doubt it’s there and is flooding his veins with adrenaline. He knows because the same is happening to him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Deja vu</span>
  </em>
  <span> of their own personal nightmare.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Fast,” Clay says grimly. “Maybe not fast enough. Get your weapons ready. As much as you can.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It’s a tense ten minutes. They all have their pistols out and their game faces on, ready to fight to the last, but the cars behind them miraculously drop back. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“All at once,” Jensen muses. “We’re headed into a trap.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What could be worse than what they might do to us?” Pooch asks, baffled. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“There’s a little bunker down the road. I recognize this place,” Roque says. “It’s pretty well defended, even has a garage for the car.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Let’s do it,” Clay responds. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Did we lose them completely?” Pooch asks.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know, but I sure as shit ain’t slowin’ down to find out. Keep holdin’ on, kids.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The bunker is everything Roque had promised. The garage goes underground and connects to the two small rooms that comprise the safe house. It’s tiny but workable, thank heavens. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There’s a busted hot plate and spigot with a bucket against one wall, surrounded by piles of junk, yellowed books and children’s toys. A small olive couch takes up most of the opposite wall, and the other two walls are held up by the same junk. The center of the room is filled by a rickety wooden table with five chairs surrounding it. They make their way there after searching the place. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“One bed, one couch, and no internet access,” Jensen says with a frown. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We’re not going to be here long enough to need it,” Clay says. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That is not true - “</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Jensen,” Roque says slowly in a tone Cougar decidedly does not like, “you are going to find something better to do with your time than complain, or I am going to shoot you and give you something to really complain about.” He pulls out a knife and waves it in Jensen’s direction. Cougar’s not even sure how much he’s joking, or even </span>
  <em>
    <span>if</span>
  </em>
  <span> he’s joking.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jake motions zipping his lips, the sarcasm coming through loud and clear. Cougar grabs him by the forearm and shakes his head: not the time. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll go to the warehouse in a few hours,” Pooch says. “See if we can get in touch with whoever’s in charge there. I don’t know how they could make a mistake like this, though. That airfield hasn’t seen action in a decade at least.” Cougar’s goddamn glad their transpo expert knows how to hide in their surroundings almost as well as he does; he sure as shit doesn’t want to go out there alone.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Not our problem right now. Get some rest,” Clay says, dismissing them. Jensen looks miserable, but that’s okay. It’ll only be a few hours. </span>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The problem is, it’s going to be a lot longer than just a few hours.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“How long we talking?” Roque asks, clearly annoyed with the delay. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck, didn’t I just say the warehouse was blown to hell and gone?” Pooch responds, clearly annoyed with </span>
  <em>
    <span>Roque</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “They need to send another team. Days, I’ll bet. I’m laying low for another forty-eight hours before check-in. So settle in.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jensen’s eyes are like sad little teacups. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Forty-eight hours</span>
  </em>
  <span>? he mouths. Cougar can read his mind: he’s going to lose it without internet access. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Looks like it’s gonna be a lot of damage control for Cougar. It’s a lot of work, too, but he’d never complain. Jensen belongs to him in some indefinable way, forged together in blood and agony; he’ll do fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything</span>
  </em>
  <span> for Jensen. Jump on a nuke if it came to that. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They dig through their packs. Enough food for a week, more than that if they ration carefully. They’re set for the long haul, at least in one sense. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They settle down to eat. Jensen’s mood perks back up once dinner is finished. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Big guy like him needs calories to sustain all that energy</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Cougar thinks with amusement. Once upon a time, he’d known starvation. They both had. And worse.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A memory comes to him: Jensen on his stomach, tears flowing down his face onto the hard prison cot, Cougar’s hands carefully checking him for damage. He’d found no injuries that time, at least not on the outside, but that had been when Jensen had fully broken, and Cougar’s heart aches all over again. It was the first time he’d freely put his hands on Jake, massaging him from head to toe in a last-ditch effort to help him somehow. Even though he’d known how little good it would do; all of Jensen’s pain, or at least the stuff that mattered, had been on the inside. Always. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It hadn’t been the last time. As much as Cougar had wanted to touch Jensen like that again, he wishes he hadn’t had to.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>As Jensen’s usual chatter starts up again, Cougar notices the way Roque’s jaw tightens, the way his fingers twitch, as though itching to reach for a knife. Pooch and Clay see it, too, and they try to steer conversation away from the random topics Jensen likes to indulge in. Cougar wonders if he should make a bet with Pooch about whether or not it’ll come to blows between Jensen and Roque before they make the rendezvous. Give him something to focus on other than the inevitable tension headache.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Cougar’s main concern is how out of touch Roque has been lately. Whether it’s the lack of leave or something personal, he’s becoming concerned that Roque is going to fly off the handle and regret it later. How much he regrets it would be contingent upon how much he hurts Jensen, of course. And Cougar is not above preemptively nipping that in the bud. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When he pulls his eyes away from Jensen and glances up from his uncomfortable seat in the corner, Clay is staring at him. Cougar isn’t sure he likes the look on his commanding officer’s face. He stares back, a silent challenge, daring him to say something. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Clay bites the inside of his cheek, weighing his options; as their leader, he’s best equipped to deal with the situation and on the hook for it besides. Cougar’s thankful that Pooch is also there, though. His capacity for kindness is unmatched. If he had a superpower, it would be empathy. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>If Cougar had one, it would be killing people with his mind. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And he’ll do it in a heartbeat if somebody harms what’s his.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Clay eventually lowers his eyes in deference to this fact. It’s clear, then: Cougar will take Roque out if he needs to, and Clay won’t stop him because he knows that will only happen if there’s no other choice. But no harm will ever come to Jake while he still draws breath. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But God, he hopes it doesn’t come to that. They’ve been a team for a little over a year, and normally, they get on like a house on fire. Even Jensen’s constant chatter is comforting, providing people can tune it out as background noise when they need a break. Roque is usually decent at that. This is just a case of… shitty timing. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Clay and Roque will either rochambeau for the bed, or else endure sleeping together. Cougar has already spread his gear out on the eyesore of a couch; he and Jensen will share. There’s even a small fold-out bed hidden inside, thank the heavens. Pooch has opted for sleeping in the car; Cougar wishes him luck with the bugs that likely infest the garage, a statement that earns him a grumble and the middle finger. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Those first few months after they’d… well, after, Cougar would growl at anyone who so much as looked at them sideways for how they’d hung onto each other. They’d been together most of the day, slept together, too. Trauma will do that to a person. Shared trauma even more so. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“This thing had better be worth it,” Roque grouches, slinking heavily to the floor, back against the wall. Preparing for the long wait. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Clay stares at Roque for a long moment, then swings his gaze to the target that caused this whole mess. “The hell’s in this safe that’s so important?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know, but let’s not find out,” Roque responds.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I think at this point, we’re gonna have to. It might matter later. We can’t say for sure this won’t  get us in trouble somehow. Cartel wants it, government wants it. People are dying for it. Literally.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Roque shoots Clay a look that communicates </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking goddammit Clay</span>
  </em>
  <span> but appears too tired to do much else. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Let’s open it, then,” Jensen says with a shrug, also too fucking tired to be excited about the prospect.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Roque tenses up as he watches Clay move toward the crate; Jensen’s heart and respiration speed up in anticipation despite his fatigue. Cougar has to make a conscious effort not to kiss the cross around his neck. He’s curious, but smart enough to be cautious and, okay, maybe a </span>
  <em>
    <span>little</span>
  </em>
  <span> superstitious, too. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Clay easily pries the ancient locking mechanism off with the industrial-grade snips they carry in their packs. Roque twitches as the flimsy thing drops to the stone. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Then… nothing. Not even a breath can be heard as they watch Clay stare into the trunk, wearing zero expression, giving them no idea which direction to run. The tension ratchets up as they all wait for judgment, for the word that it’s safe or dangerous or even nonsensical.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eventually, Clay sighs and looks up. Cougar’s good enough at reading his expressions to see the confusion and exasperation in his eyes and the angle of his mouth.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Nonsensical it is, then.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You guys wanna come look? See if you can make sense of… whatever this is?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jensen’s launched himself from his seat against the wall next to him before Clay’s even done talking. Roque and Cougar move a little more slowly, but soon they are all standing over the open trunk and staring. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s like a bag of holding in here,” Jensen breathes. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Looks like a garage sale,” Roque mutters in response.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He reaches into the trunk and pulls out some kind of odd-shaped vessel. “What am I even looking at? The fuck is this?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Roque, don’t touch - “</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Shit - “</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Ooh, maybe it’s a genie lamp!” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Everybody turns to stare at Jensen, whose eyes are alight with excitement. He looks like the kid he should be, the kid he </span>
  <em>
    <span>would</span>
  </em>
  <span> be if he hadn’t joined the army right out of high school. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>God, he deserves so much more than this life.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Clay puts his head in both hands, takes a deep breath, then runs one through his gradually thinning hair. “There’s no such thing as a genie lamp, Jensen,” he says patiently, with </span>
  <em>
    <span>I shouldn’t have to tell you this</span>
  </em>
  <span> going unspoken. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“How the hell do we know that? You can’t prove a negative. Can you give me a better reason they’d want… hell, any of this?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Aren’t genies a Middle Eastern thing anyway?” Roque asks skeptically. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure, but why wouldn’t it travel from person to person? You wouldn’t leave a genie lamp behind for your enemies to take, would you?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Good point,” Clay says magnanimously. “Unfortunately, </span>
  <em>
    <span>genies are still not real</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I dunno, Clay. I met a guy in Iran - had a sock puppet fight with him once, really friendly dude, considering I was supposed to be shooting him - who said his family was blessed by a genie back in, like, the sixth or seventh century, and then they gave it to their neighbor’s family, right, as a dowry, like, how can someone be worthy of a frickin’ </span>
  <em>
    <span>genie</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Christ, she must’ve been </span>
  <em>
    <span>smokin’ - “</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Roque’s been getting riled up through Jensen’s speech, and Cougar’s back straightens imperceptibly as their SIC growls low in his throat, a wolf pushed to the brink. Clay, too, can sense the violence pulsing under the surface, waiting to claw its way out. They meet eyes briefly, but before Clay can attempt to redirect Roque’s attention - undoubtedly a less violent action than Cougar’s redirect would be - Roque stands, deliberately slow, and stares straight into Jensen’s eyes as he rubs the lamp with one big paw. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jensen stops talking, finally reading the room. He stares back at Roque, eyes wide and guileless, not nervous at all, just gathering information. He’s got a big set of brass balls, certainly bigger ones than most people would give him credit for.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Nothing happens, no magical genie flows from the lip of the vase, but Roque nevertheless makes his wish. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I wish Jensen couldn’t talk.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“For how long?” Clay asks with a hint of amusement.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“For three whole fucking days.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They all turn to Jensen, who eyes each of them in turn as they stare at him expectantly. Then he gets a shit-eating grin on his face and pretends to try to talk, facial expressions running through surprised to horrified to panicked. When none of them buy it, he throws his hands in the air. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You are no fun, any of you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Indeed,” Clay tells him drily. “Now that we’ve established the contents of this box to be nothing short of ridiculous, we should come up with a way to pass the time that does </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>involve Roque bashing Jensen’s head in.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Got it, boss,” Cougar says, cutting off anything either of his other teammates have to say about it. “Jensen,” he adds, nodding his head in the direction of the couch. “Cards?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jensen makes his way around the table and sits down on the couch, Cougar behind him. “You gonna teach me how to cheat?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Aww, you’re</span>
  <em>
    <span> really</span>
  </em>
  <span> no fun.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Not my fault you have no poker face.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jensen looks at him all fake-offended. “I am the one who goes undercover here</span>
  <em>
    <span>. I </span>
  </em>
  <span>am the infiltration expert. You know, at least where white people won’t be noticed. I cannot believe you’re destroying my good name, Cougs.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Shut up and get the cards, </span>
  <em>
    <span>mijo</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You got it,” Jake says agreeably. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They play for the next hour while waiting for lights out, though Jake does not shut up. He talks about anything and everything, as usual. Cougar tunes most of it out, knowing by now how to tell when Jensen really wants him to pay attention. He’s mostly focused on Clay and Roque on the other side of the room, watches from the corner of his eye as Clay takes the bucket into the garage so he can use it. Poor Pooch. Roque, for his part, does his best to avoid even looking in their direction. His trick with the genie lamp seems to have calmed him somewhat; as long as Cougar and Clay keep him and Jensen occupied, they should get through this without bloodshed. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jensen snuggles up with Cougar, not caring in the slightest how ridiculous it must look. They don’t have much of a choice, really; the bunker’s floor is concrete, and none of them are young enough to lie on it for very long. They’re just a bunch of old men with no reason to be here, a thought that depresses Cougar something fierce. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But he’s got Jake in his arms again.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It’s one of the best things about being cooped up like this, and Cougar sleeps like a man without a baby.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>So. Roque's a dick. Yeah.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Cougar awakens early. Well, with no windows, it’s difficult to say for sure, but his body is a well-tuned machine. In their line of work, it’s adjust to that or be killed. One thing’s for sure, anyway: It’s too goddamn early to be awake when there’s not much to do.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The </span>
  <span>fold-out mattress </span>
  <span>is cold beside him. In the absolute darkness of the bunker, he can’t make out where Jensen could have gone, but like his time-sense, his Jake-sense is well-honed. He lets out a quiet, questioning sound, expecting his best friend to respond in kind. But when he gets nothing but oppressive silence, worry immediately sets in.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Jensen?” he asks into the still night air.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Nothing. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He sits up quickly, ready to find the light switch, when Jensen’s warm fingers tightly grab his own. It seems he’s been sitting on the floor with his back against the couch, right next to Cougar. He turns and kneels with his head in Cougar’s lap, breath hot and fast against the same hand he’s squeezing for dear life.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Jake. What’s wrong?” Cougar whispers. He has no idea what it could be, but it’s definitely not good. Clay’s never seen this, Jensen silent and </span>
  <em>
    <span>actually</span>
  </em>
  <span> close to his breaking point, </span>
  <span>and he’d prefer it be kept that way</span>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Because </span>
  <span>Cougar has, that and beyond, and he’s not scared often, but he is now. Cartel outside the front door? No big deal. Scalpel coming for his eyeball? Piece of cake. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jensen silent? Panic-inducing.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He takes a deep breath and pulls Jake back into bed. Jensen goes willingly, seeming listless. Cougar’s steady on the outside but his mind is screaming </span>
  <em>
    <span>Red Alert! Red Alert!</span>
  </em>
  <span> in giant neon letters.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He wraps Jake in his arms, holds him tight against his chest. The scent of him, something Cougar is very familiar with even after all this time, surrounds him. It feels good to breathe him in again like this. Cougar can readily admit that to himself. Jake’s spiky hair tickles the underside of his chin. His pulse is strong underneath Cougar’s fingers, which he tightens possessively against the back of Jake’s neck. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jake breathes deeply, holds, lets it out. Does it again. Slow, easy, just like Cougar had taught him. Since he’s obviously not going to talk tonight, Cougar lulls him to sleep humming hymns remembered from childhood, the light from the stained glass window illuminating a truth even the church could never quite get right, the exact thing Jake’s spirit represents - the purity of true love in all its forms.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Cougar is still awake when Clay begins to stir. He lies still, letting Clay handle the lights in favor of holding Jensen, wanting him to get every second of rest possible. The heavy weight of him hasn’t moved an inch in the few hours since he’d snuggled against Cougar in despair. Once Clay’s blinked away the glare, he meets Cougar’s eyes and elects to say nothing. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Still, Cougar’s relieved that Jensen awakens before Roque, who is known to be a tad homophobic. Not that they’ve ever taken that step, but Roque definitely suspects that there’s something more than just friendship between them. Of course Roque’s never had any relationship as profound as one forged in the kind of circumstances theirs had been, so he simply wouldn’t get it anyway, regardless of their genders.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Either way, it’s his problem. Not Cougar’s, and definitely not Jake’s.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They take turns using the restroom in the garage, quickly pissing into the stinky mess. Roque is nominated to dump it outside. And since they’re surrounded by mostly desert, there are cacti everywhere, and when Roque nearly gets himself tangled in one during a moment of inattention and winds up needing </span>
  <span>pain meds and a few stitches</span>
  <span>, they all laugh.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Only problem is, Jensen’s not laughing out loud. His face is going through the motions, sure, but no sound is forthcoming. Nor is he talking. But somehow, he also seems… okay with this.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Cougar is confused. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Last night, Jake had been distressed - he’s not imagining that, not with the remembered warmth of his best friend snug against his chest. Now, though, he seems fine - eyes bright and smile wide. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But no words. No sound at all. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Clay and Roque finally realize that Jensen isn’t faking it, and Cougar is ashamed when the others figure it out before he does, though to be fair, they don’t understand how Jensen reacts to major trauma.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The genie lamp worked. Seems ridiculous, but there’s no other explanation.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“So, uh… Jensen, can you actually talk?” Clay asks when they sit around the table for breakfast, lifting and moving the maps scattered all around the thing. Roque’s watching him with a shit-eating grin. Funny how much he’d been against opening the trunk before it benefitted him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jensen shakes his head and makes a </span>
  <em>
    <span>what can you do</span>
  </em>
  <span> gesture with his shoulders.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Clay purses his lips, thinks for a minute. “So… Does this mean the genie lamp worked?” His face twists on the words </span>
  <em>
    <span>genie lamp</span>
  </em>
  <span> like they’d offended him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jensen shrugs: </span>
  <em>
    <span>Seems like it</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And you’re really not faking it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jensen drags his gaze over to Cougar, who snorts at his expression. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Is this guy kidding me? Does he think I could go that long without talking if I wasn’t forced to?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Right. Well. Um. I guess we’ll find out for sure in a few days.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Cougar straightens up in his chair, a tendril of horror creeping up his spine. “What if this doesn’t end after a few days?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I doubt that will happen,” Clay responds. “It’s not like he spontaneously developed powers or something. It happened like Roque said, it’ll un-happen that way, too. Don’t worry about shit until you know it’s going to be a problem. I don’t usually have to tell</span>
  <em>
    <span> you</span>
  </em>
  <span> that.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Yeah, well, it’s Jake</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Cougar wants to respond. </span>
  <em>
    <span>All bets are off when it comes to him. I shouldn’t have to tell </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>you</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span> that.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Roque shrugs like it’s all the same to him. It isn’t - even Roque would feel bad about that - but he’s tickled pink about this whole thing. And somehow Cougar is angrier about it than Jensen, who’s watching the scene with apparent amusement.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Cougar is so </span>
  <em>
    <span>confused</span>
  </em>
  <span>. This should be </span>
  <em>
    <span>killing</span>
  </em>
  <span> Jensen.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They all settle in as well as they can, finding things to do. Pooch hangs out with Cougar and Jake on the couch after digging through the ancient books and toys in the bunker. It occurs to him that Pooch hadn’t been here for the whole curse thing last night. No wonder he’d looked so confused at breakfast.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“So,” Pooch finally brings up, attempting nonchalance and failing miserably at it, “am I to understand that you used a genie lamp last night?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Roque,” Cougar clarifies.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Right, right.</span>
  <em>
    <span> That’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> the part that needs clarification here.” Pooch breathes deeply and tries again. “Roque used the </span>
  <em>
    <span>genie lamp</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Seems like it.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And you all just believe that’s what happened.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Would Jake lie?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Pooch glances at him before turning back to the crossword puzzle in his lap - his boredom-killing method. It’s rare for </span>
  <span>Cougar</span>
  <span> to call him Jake </span>
  <span>out loud</span>
  <span>. People pay attention when he does. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I guess not,” he hedges, “but dude, you’ve gotta admit, this is weird. Beyond weird. Spooky.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We watched part of a ritual sacrifice last month,” Cougar points out.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, that just adds to it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He’s not wrong, but Cougar is more the kind of guy who focuses on what he can change, and tries not to worry about what he can’t. Let others do the worrying. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Seriously, the brass ain’t gonna fall for it.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He looks up sharply and sees the serious look on Pooch’s face. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I mean it,” Pooch continues. “No way Jensen’s gonna get out of debrief. Which means we need to come up with an airtight story, which will mean nothing if the higher-ups already know what’s in that trunk. Which seems likely at this point. They at least have an idea, or why else would we be here? They wouldn’t have pulled us from what we were doing, even with Jensen struggling to hack their shit.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Cougar looks at Jensen, who has checked out of the conversation. His shoulders are slumped, head leaning against the back of the couch. Not bothering to hide how awful this is for him now that Roque and Clay are in the bedroom and not here to witness it. Something tightens in Cougar’s chest. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He turns back to Pooch. “They can’t do anything to him. It’ll pass.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’t think they’d experiment on him? Do something to silence him? Maybe the rest of us? What do you think they want with it anyway? Nothing good can come from givin’ ‘em what’s in that trunk, and you know it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jensen doesn’t otherwise move, but his hand slowly finds its way into Cougar’s. Cougar immediately squeezes it. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Jake’s on your side,” he says, contemplating. He doubts that the government would do anything to ‘silence’ them - after the shit they’ve seen and done for the C.I.A., there’d be no reason to burn them now. This is weird, but it’s not </span>
  <em>
    <span>burn notice</span>
  </em>
  <span> weird. Still, if there’s even a minute chance that Pooch is right? Jake’s not going near debrief, and neither are the others. Not if Cougar has anything to say about it. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Pooch is shaking his head. “I don’t know how you guys do that, you know.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Do what?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Communicate like that.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Cougar doesn’t respond, just holds Jake’s hand tighter. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>At dinner, Pooch calls a meeting where he explains his concerns to the others.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Clay nods along thoughtfully. “I don’t think this is burn notice material,” he says, echoing Cougar’s earlier thoughts. “But you might be right.” He looks at Roque, who’s chewing on the side of his lip, waiting to see which direction Clay will go before deciding if he’ll be obstinate about it or not. “And you are right about the government getting hold of this shit. I don’t know what else is in that trunk, but I’m willing to bet it ain’t all garage sale junk, and the big boys are gonna get their grubby hands on it like contraband.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And Jake?” Cougar asks. “Will he be safe from them?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Even if we aren’t burned? I think so,” Clay replies.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Cougar doesn’t say anything, just sets his jaw. He doesn’t trust them not to harm Jake. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You know I’d have to put it in the report, Cougs.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He remains silent, unwavering, his only motion a flick of his eyes toward Jensen, who looks adorably fond in the only way a six foot tall soldier can.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Seconds tick by, a standoff between Cougar and Clay. Finally, Clay sighs and nods at both of them: </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’ve got your backs.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jensen motions for the pad and paper that had come from his pack. He writes: </span>
  <em>
    <span>So what do we do? We’re stuck rocking back and forth between the cartel’s dong up our asses and Uncle Sam’s in our mouth.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Clay grimaces when he reads the message before passing it around to the others. “I guess we wait to see who fucks us first.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We can’t get out of here and try to, fuck, I don’t know, bury this shit? Some of this shit, anyway?” Pooch asks, but Jensen shakes his head. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em><span>No</span></em><span>, Jensen writes, </span><em><span>they’re waiting for us. They won’t take a chance on this one. Payload’s too important.</span></em> <em><span>Plus we don’t know what’s what anyway. </span></em><span>His eyes and hands are impatient like lightning; it makes Cougar uneasy, because he’s smiling and bouncing the way he normally does, and it’s like the others don’t even notice. How can they have lived in each others’ pockets for so long and not see how much this is affecting him?</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“So what do we do then? Just sit out here in the middle of fucking nowhere and wait for the cartel to find us?” Roque asks with a sour look, already knowing he won’t win this argument. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Got a better idea?” Clay asks. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What are we doing with the bullshit in the trunk?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Burying it. Some of it, anyway.” Seems like Clay’s been considering this, too.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Replacing it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“With?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Actual garage sale trinkets?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A puff of air escapes Jensen’s nose. He writes:</span>
  <em>
    <span> How do we know what’s cool and what’s not, and </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>what might be dangerous</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We fucking guess,” Clay says drily. “Now how are we gonna do this?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jensen points at himself as if to say:</span>
  <em>
    <span> Let me take care of that</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Which means it’s probably going to be another ad lib situation where he comes through at the last minute, but not before giving everyone a heart attack.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Well, it’s their job. If anyone can get it done, it’s Jake.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Predictably, the </span>
  <span>next </span>
  <span>day drags. They minimize their food and water intake as much as possible to avoid leaving the bunker for bathroom breaks. The bucket needs emptying entirely too often, and immediately when someone needs to take a shit. At one point, Roque scouts outside, coming back to report that </span>
  <em>
    <span>those fucks are everywhere</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Clay makes the executive decision to use the water bottles they’ve finished as urinals; only for ‘number two emergencies’ will they be permitted to leave, and then they have to go out with a buddy. Cougar expects Jensen to whine about that - no one likes to shit with someone else watching, though they’ve done it before and will again - so the stark silence which greets this news is jarring as hell. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It’s little things throughout the day that make him feel like he’s living in the Twilight Zone. Poker is weird as hell without Jensen’s constant babble, and his facial expressions are strangely much less revealing than usual. When the boredom really sets in sometime in early afternoon, Jensen takes out his stupid sock puppets and plays with them, pretends to have a conversation with them, even, and watching the thoughts fly behind his glasses without the accompanying banter is bizarre. Cougar strains as though he’s going to pick up Jensen’s thoughts simply by being near him. It does not work. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe Cougar just feels so uncomfortable because he associates Jensen’s silence with terror and sadness. Maybe he feels like Jensen no longer needs him because he’s handling this just fine without Cougar’s help. Maybe it’s just the fact that he’s so used to Jensen’s voice, like background noise people don’t notice until it’s gone. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The absolute strangest thing that happens on this, Day Two, is when Jensen discovers an old nest with several bones </span>
  <span>from</span>
  <span> small rats or large mice that had starved to death in this hole. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p><span>Jensen pulls his backpack out, setting aside his usual kit for the random stuff in the pockets, which apparently includes tiny American flags, freaking tiny </span><em><span>Ken dolls</span></em><span>, and little tins filled with chocolate, Jensen’s infamous secret stash. Cougar watches Jensen consolidate the chocolate into a single tin, eating whatever he can’t fit into it, then gather his other goodies and move everything to the table. He picks up the bones from the corner </span><span>with </span><em><span>bare fucking hands</span></em> <span>and places them in the empty tin. </span></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>By now, everyone is watching him, but Jensen pays them no attention. It’s like they’re not even there, Cougar included. He, Roque, and Clay move to the table and watch as Jensen performs a bizarre funeral ceremony, squeezing flags between little plastic fingers and marching them toward the tin. He mimes a speech, facial expression moving through sadness, grief, and then cautious hope as Ken Number One ‘finishes’ his eulogy. The tin is closed with solemnity and Jensen takes a moment of… silence… before placing the tin in the dustiest corner as though burying the bones. Both dolls with their flags return to the backpack’s pockets, and then Jensen just… goes about his business as usual, offering Cougar a piece of chocolate with a smile, </span>
  <span>which makes Cougar glare for the several seconds it takes Jensen to realize -</span>
  <em>
    <span> oh, right, bare hands. I’m gross, gotcha.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It stays quiet for a while after that</span>
  <span>, even when Pooch leaves to check for the rendezvous</span>
  <span>. What the hell </span>
  <em>
    <span>can</span>
  </em>
  <span> they say after watching that?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Clay and Roque still mostly stay in the bedroom, speaking often but in low voices, maybe so as not to disturb Jensen or make him envious of the fact that they can talk. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jensen’s behavior continues to be over-the-top; he puts on a mime show for Cougar at one point, and later performs a silent sock-puppet show, which is hard to do but Cougar is reluctantly entertained nonetheless. Throughout the entire day, he seems fine, and Cougar thinks that maybe Jake’s okay, just making this his new normal and settling into his new role for the next </span>
  <span>day and a half</span>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Clay and Roque ready themselves for sleep fairly early, exhausted, like Cougar is, by boredom. He watches Roque grab some pain medication from their stash, taking care of their commander as much as Cougar’s taking care of Jensen. He’s not sure what exactly occurred during the car chase, but it’s clearly affecting Clay more than he’s letting on to the others.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It’ll be good to get out of this hell hole.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Assuming Pooch makes it. Assuming he can outsmart these guys, that he can find his way to a signal and back without getting caught. Assuming the team they send to rescue them is competent enough to put these cartel dogs out of their misery. But that doesn’t bear thinking about. They’ll cross that bridge if they come to it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Clay’s snoring like a bear when Cougar gets up to turn off the light. He lies back down, preparing to feel Jensen lie next to him, but Jake sighs tiredly and snuggles up to Cougar in much the same way he did last night. Cougar ends up pinned underneath that heavy body once more, his smaller frame wrapped up in Jake’s like a nesting doll because Jensen’s holding onto him like a damn octopus. He’d never complain about it anyway, but especially not now, because here it is, Jake’s breakdown. He’s not completely devastated, but the strangeness of the last twenty-four hours make much more sense now. This </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> killing him, and </span>
  <span>he’s still got a day left</span>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Cougar’s heart cracks along a fault line that will never be fully repaired. Seems like Jake always deserves better than what he gets. Cougar does what he can, tightens his grip around Jake’s torso, letting him know as best he can that Cougar is there and will always be there, even if he has to die for Jake. He’d do it gladly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Day </span>
  <span>Three</span>
  <span> begins much the same way, Clay rising early, Cougar gripping Jake as tightly as he can for as long as he can. He’s preparing for another day of Jensen weirdness - after the rodent funeral, there’s no telling what the hell Jake will do. This is going to continue to eat at him, and it’s imperative now that Cougar keeps a closer eye on him. Now he has an idea just how bad the situation is for Jensen, and he’s kicking himself for not seeing through yesterday’s shenanigans. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The good news is that they’ll be heading out in the early morning hours while the other team distracts the cartel. Just in time for Jake to regain his voice and his remaining sanity. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Seriously, fuck Roque. All throughout breakfast, the bastard looks downright serene, and he is </span>
  <em>
    <span>never</span>
  </em>
  <span> serene. Cougar had always thought of Roque as a dick, pessimistic as hell and rude, but the glee he’s obviously getting from Jensen’s enforced silence is downright sadistic. It’s a good thing that Jake is hiding how much this bothers him, because if Roque knew and continued his behavior without remorse, Cougar might actually lose it. As it is, Clay catches Cougar eyeing Roque like maybe he’s dinner, if dinner had eaten his baby in front of him and then made fun of him for it. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jensen winds up</span>
  <span> somehow convincing them to play charades, using the back of one of the maps to communicate. The game doesn’t go well for him since he has to write down his guesses until Clay gets the brilliant idea to have Jensen slap the table when he thinks up a word. It’s the oddest game of charades Cougar has ever played, but Jensen is all in, grinning and bouncing just like normal. It’s so incongruous, Cougar can’t understand how this doesn’t make the others uncomfortable. The whole thing is just so </span>
  <em>
    <span>strange</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>About halfway through the day, Jensen starts wincing, covering his head and occasionally glaring at the light, which isn’t even all that bright. When it becomes apparent that he’s in a lot of pain, Cougar begins to internally panic; what if Roque’s wish set something in motion, something dangerous? Who knows how this shit works? Hell, two days ago, Cougar would’ve sworn that magic wasn’t even real. So would all of them, except maybe Jake, just because Jake is Jake.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His concern must show in his eyes, because once the two of them are sitting down, backs against the couch, just hanging out together, Jake grabs Cougar’s wrist and squeezes. Cougar looks up and Jake shakes his head, communicating that he’s fine, it’s just a migraine. Cut off from civilization, he doesn’t have access to his migraine meds. They must’ve been left behind. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“There’s pain medication,” Cougar tells him gently. “You should take some.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jake sighs and shrugs:</span>
  <em>
    <span> Maybe. It might not work.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Worth a shot, yeah?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jensen doesn’t respond for half a minute, staring at the ground in thought. Then he nods once, decisively, and gets up to grab one of Clay’s pills from the pharmacy pack. Roque eyes him strangely when he sees what Jensen’s grabbed, but stays silent on the matter. Clay would never begrudge one of his teammates medication even if he needed it, too, and even Roque would agree. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jensen dry swallows the pill and then lies face-down on the couch. He pulls up the covers and places the pillow over his head to keep out the light. Cougar watches him for a bit, wondering if there’s anything he can do to help, but ultimately decides against </span>
  <span>trying</span>
  <span>. He pulls out a pack of cards and plays solitaire instead. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>After the second round of solitaire, it becomes obvious that something is wrong with Jensen. Either the pain meds aren’t working and the migraine is getting worse, or something else is wrong. Cougar moves to his side, feels Clay’s eyes on them from across the room. Once Cougar’s beside him, Jake holds out a hand to stop him from moving any closer, even though his face is still covered by the pillow. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>What the hell is going on? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Cougar thinks, feeling helpless.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Then he notices there is a rhythmic quality to Jensen’s discomfort, specifically in the… southern region. Almost like he’s humping the bed, hips swaying in small circles. Cougar half expects to hear him moan, but of course all that comes out of Jensen’s mouth is slightly faster respiration.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>What the hell is going on</span>
  </em>
  <span> turns to </span>
  <em>
    <span>What the hell is in those pills?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Cougar leaves Jake alone, gives him one last lingering look before walking to Clay and leaning over him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What did Jensen take?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>From his seat at the table, Roque repositions himself so he can watch their conversation. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I was wondering that myself. Didn’t look like pain medication,” he says.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Cougar growls at him, low in his throat. “Why didn’t you say something then?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Roque shrugs, puts his hands up in a placating gesture. “Whoa, hey, I thought he knew what he was grabbing.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Clay coughs uncomfortably, causing both men to turn to him. “I, ah… I think he might’ve grabbed viagra.”  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Roque nearly drops the knife he’d been passing aimlessly between his palms. Cougar can feel his eyebrows climbing all the way up his forehead. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“O...kay, what?” Roque asks.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You heard me,” Clay mutters. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, I did, and I need more information.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No, you really don’t.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Clay</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Viagra, seriously?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sometimes I have trouble. Is that what you wanted to hear?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No, actually, I’d rather I didn’t know anything and that this conversation never occurred.” Cougar glances back at him for a brief moment. Roque is intrigued and lying his ass off. “Why the hell do you need viagra at thirty-</span>
  <span>five</span>
  <span> years old?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We’re not having this conversation,” Clay says stubbornly. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Cougar cuts in before they can continue. “What about Jensen?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What about him?” Clay asks, happy to move the subject along. “Viagra doesn’t give you a boner on its own. It only works when you’re already aroused, and that is </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>on me.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What would it do to someone healthy in their twenties?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Make it easier. Keep it hard longer. Might be able to get it up another time. How the hell would I know?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Shit,” Cougar mutters, frustration coursing through his body, flowing in his blood. This just gets better and better. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“He’ll be fine,” Roque says like he’s an expert on the matter. “Just tell him to jack off and get it over with. Not like we care.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Well, sure. In the middle of the night, stuck in a small room or sharing cots, sometimes a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do. They’ve heard each other jerk off, hell, even been present when one of the others have gotten laid. Mid-afternoon wank sessions with everyone a few feet away and aware of what’s going on is a different story. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Clay. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Viagra</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Roque and Clay start arguing about Clay’s ‘needs,’ completely forgetting about their suffering teammate on the other side of the room. Cougar comes to a decision and leaves them to it, going back to Jensen and lying next to him on the bed. Jensen moves his head to the side and glares, but Cougar’s having none of it; instead, he soothingly rubs Jensen’s back, breathes in, holds, breathes out, holding Jake’s gaze until he gets with the program. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Slowly, very slowly, he starts to relax. His initial reluctance probably has a lot to do with that, but Cougar knows how and where to touch Jensen to elicit the right responses. Jensen’s flush, his fast heartbeat and respiration, the way his body can’t seem to stop squirming all make it difficult for Cougar to keep his hands soothing instead of stimulating, but it helps to remember that Jake is an unwilling participant </span>
  <span>in his own life</span>
  <span> for the second time in as many days, and that these events have stacked to create a living hell for his best friend. Different than what they’ve experienced before, of course, but awful nonetheless. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Jake,” Cougar murmurs, holding his gaze. “What can I do to help?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jensen turns back into the pillow, newly flushed with embarrassment, but responds in the best way he can, reaching out to hold Cougar’s hand and squeezing: </span>
  <em>
    <span>You’re already doing it</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It’s not enough for Cougar; nothing Cougar does will ever be good enough for Jake, but he’ll do what he can, always. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>By the time dinner rolls around and Pooch leaves the bunker </span>
  <span>to prep the car</span>
  <span>, Jensen is asleep. Cougar accepts Clay’s offering, spam and canned peaches with a bottle of water for each of them. Dinner is good, simple but filling, and once they’ve finished, Jensen is up and almost back to normal. He can’t look Clay or Roque in the eye, though. Cougar can and does, freely showing his annoyance with his superior officers. Clay at least has enough decency to look ashamed. He could’ve at least warned them there were other pills mixed in with the pain meds. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Between Clay and Roque, Cougar’s gonna develop an ulcer. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Or maybe that’s the spam.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p>The ride to the rendezvous point is anxiety-inducing in more ways than one. Their reception is limited and the cartel is still out here. They’re likely engaged in a firefight with the other team Uncle Sam sent, but it’s not like the cartel would have conveniently forgotten about the Losers. There’s probably at least one team still keeping an eye out for them. And Jensen’s silence weighs heavily on each of them, even Roque, who manages to look almost sorry. </p><p> </p><p>The team gets a break, though. Whether it’s Pooch’s talent for disguising their transportation or just sheer dumb luck, nobody notices them on the road. They have to pass through a small town in the dead of night, and said town seems dead, too. Jensen and Cougar dig through piles at three different thrift stores, discovering a handful of items that can displace at least some of what’s in the trunk. Including that goddamn genie lamp.</p><p> </p><p>Pooch drops them off at the beach a few miles from their pick-up location. They’d agreed to leave several of the ‘trinkets’ in a nearby cove, Jensen with his ridiculous lung capacity diving to bury them in the muck in a spot most people couldn’t even dream of reaching. Maybe even the average Spec Ops team. It only takes a few hours, easy enough to explain away when Clay shows up for debriefing after Pooch has dropped off the payload and boarded a plane to the States. </p><p> </p><p>The rest of them decide to take a vacation right there in Mexico, since they’re finally getting their overdue leave. There’s a resort a few hours north that Roque has been dying to visit. Jensen is shocked but pleased when he and Cougar are invited, probably a nod to Roque’s guilt over what he’d done to Jensen. The implied <em> just stay away from me for most of it </em>suits Jake and Cougar just fine. And Clay decides to tag along, too, right after he visits the brass at the pickup site for debrief.  </p><p> </p><p>At that announcement, Roque gives him a complicated look. Clay meets his eyes steadily. Cougar’s not really sure what’s going on there, though he has always suspected that Clay spends a lot of time seeking Roque in female form and drinking to hide that fact from himself. </p><p> </p><p>Anyway, it’s not Cougar’s business. As long as it doesn’t interfere with the team, they can fuck each other into the next century for all he cares, though if that’s what they want from each other, it obviously hasn’t happened yet. </p><p> </p><p>And with his feelings for Jake, well. He has no room to talk.</p><p> </p><p>Renting the car is Jake’s job, and he is absolutely over the moon about it. He ecstatically gestures at the employee serving him, speaking in rapid-fire Spanish that sounds more natural than it ever has out of his mouth. Cougar watches him from the waiting area, a soft look on his face. </p><p> </p><p>Clay glances at him, and Cougar reads his thought: <em> why are you still waiting?  </em></p><p> </p><p>And honestly, Cougar doesn’t have a reason. None at all. </p><p> </p><p>They nominate Clay to drive, much to his annoyance, even though Jensen is technically the only one allowed to. Jensen settles in the back and chats like usual, and it’s a relief for all of them. Even Roque. The only time he shuts up is when he notices the way Cougar’s looking at him; Cougar can feel the way his lips are parted and his respiration faster than usual, and he’s thinking <em> yes. Tonight.  </em></p><p> </p><p>Jake gives him a secretive smile because he knows. Because he’s just been waiting for Cougar to say the words <em> I’m ready. </em> </p><p> </p><p>The two of them splurge on a suite with an obscenely large private hot tub and invite Roque and Clay over for beer, and that’s when it happens. Cougar feels it start in the pit of his stomach, heat and need that makes his pelvic muscles clench in anticipation; he thinks it’s just Jensen’s proximity and the promise that tonight holds - until he catches a glance of Clay’s tight expression and Roque’s <em> what the fuck </em> face. He surreptitiously checks underneath the water, and thinks <em> oh, shit </em>. </p><p> </p><p>They’d been exposed to more of those trinkets as they were buried. And it looks like they’d been right to worry. They should’ve been more careful. </p><p><br/><em> Here we go again </em>, Cougar thinks, and mentally prepares himself for a long night.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Yay, a cliffhanger! Bet you guys can guess what's coming next...</p>
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